Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Chapter 2
June 10, 2011 – New York City, New York
"What are you doing?"
It was hard as hell trying to find anything in the new base that Clint had been relocated to during his time in New Mexico. He figured grunts had moved all his stuff, leaving it in chaos. He couldn't find his bag that held Darcy's journal and he'd spent nearly two hours tearing his bunk apart and searching the sparse closet.
He'd stayed away from her after she'd given him her number. He didn't want to draw any more attention to her than what was already on her. Coulson had questioned him about their interaction and he'd waved it off as friendly flirting.
"You know," he had said slyly, "Pretty girl, long mission. Didn't know if she was interested – "
"Stay away from her like that," Coulson snapped back, "This is a mission, not a brothel."
Clint shook his head. He'd had enough time to get her out of his system, see her as the mother that he'd always wanted and not a girl that his horny eighteen-year-old self wanted to get in bed – but he had to admit that when she offered, he was extremely tempted. He'd spent years hunting after her, searching for even the slightest trace, and she ended up in bumfuck New Mexico of all places. With a God. What were the chances?
"Barton."
Clint looked up from the bag he was searching and gave the redhead a small smile. "Hey, Nat. You're back early."
Natasha Romanoff was what the bureau called an asset. She was a liability if provoked, but for the most part she had no problem doing what was asked of her. Just like his codename was Hawkeye, hers was the Black Widow. Clint only knew pieces of her past, like that she was from Russia and she was older than her file let on. He kept her close because she was similar to Darcy, but not quite. She talked about the Red Room sometimes late at night when they couldn't sleep, leading him to believe that she might have known Darcy at some point. Her memories didn't seem scattered as hers did. Natasha had retained them.
"Finished clearing the red out of my ledger early," she shrugged, leaning against the doorframe and watching him intently. "I got word that I have a new mission and I wanted to check out our new…accommodations before heading out."
"Not to see me," he quipped back.
"Not to see you." She smirked, observing the mess silently. "You know, a few bags were left behind. You could always go check and see if what you're looking was left behind."
Clint barked a laugh. "What would I do without you?"
"Die most likely."
July 19, 2011 – Puente Antiguo, New Mexico
A loud ding right next to Darcy's head caused her to groan and try to roll to her side, promptly falling off the barstool she'd fallen asleep on.
"What the fuck," she grumbled, her ass hurting from where it hit the cement floors of the car dealership. When she finally managed to sit up, she blinked wearily at the light filtering in through the high windows. "Jane?" She called groggily.
"Yes?"
"Why didn't you wake me up?" She asked as she struggled to her feet and collapsed back onto the barstool. Her eyes found Jane across the island from her, her eyes glazed as she was glued to her laptop.
"Because you would have made me sleep. Or eat. Or both," she shrugged, sucking down a gulp of coffee before her fingers were flying back across the keyboard. "Which, is not on my agenda for the next few hours."
"Did you at least save me some coffee?" Darcy whined, fully aware of how childish she sounded. "Because I can't function – "
"Without the nectar of the Gods. I got you, it's brewing."
She sighed happily. "I love you."
"Feeling's mutual, Pinky."
With a sigh, she gathered enough energy and got to her feet, padding over to the counter that held the brewing machine of life. A mug found her hand and she filled it up before nearly chugging it, ignoring the scalding heat as it burnt her throat. She didn't miss a beat as she filled it up once more and made her way back to the island and snatched away the notes that Jane had been working on. "Hope you don't need these. I'm gonna translate 'em and then you can get them back."
Jane waved at her in an impatient motion and Darcy got to work. She was pretty much a pro at copying Jane's ridiculous scribbles into something coherent.
"Erik wants us to visit him in Norway."
"What?"
The scientist glanced up and cocked her eyebrow. "Erik. I told you that he was in Norway a few weeks ago. Apparently, he'd like if we could visit so we could – "
"Make freaky smart brain babies?"
"Darcy – "
"Nah, I get it." She handed a few of the notes back to Jane and half shrugged. "I don't think I'll have enough money to cover international airfare, boss lady. The stipend I get from Culver is hardly anything and most of it's spent on food."
Jane snapped her laptop closed. It wasn't often that she could be pulled away from her work, especially when she was close to a breakthrough. "You still need your credits to graduate, though. I can…I can keep leasing this place and you can collect the money, if you want. There's only a couple months left of the internship."
"You'd do that? Like, I could stay here and soak up Culver's money and still get my credits?"
"Of course! You have to get your degree."
Darcy smiled. "I'll think about it, Janie."
A ding caught her attention and she looked down at the small phone flip phone that was on the counter next to her. Swiping it, she flipped it open and squinted at the unknown number before opening the message.
Told you I'd find it.
Darcy stared down at the picture. It was her with Clint. A younger Clint. She was dressed in some sort of costume with Clint's arms wrapped around her, smiles on both of their faces.
It didn't make sense.
Swallowing noisily, she responded.
Where are you? We need to talk.
Her phone buzzed almost immediately and she read the message over and over.
New York. Let me know when you're coming.
How was he so sure she'd run to him? Unless he really did know her. Something was off and she was going to get to the bottom of it.
October 7, 2011 – Puente Antiguo, New Mexico
Sitting on grant money was a lot harder than Darcy thought it would be. She wasn't completely comfortable with not working while Jane was in Norway, so they'd rigged up a system that worked out for both of them. Erik would email Darcy pictures of Jane's notes to be translated. So, Darcy would translate them and set them up in Excel before emailing them back. She made graphs and charts and anything else that she thought would be useful while she waited for enough money to accumulate to actually buy a plane ticket – taking a bus was definitely not in her future. Once was enough, thank you very much.
She got the bare necessities when it came to food, surviving off of poptarts and peanut butter and jelly. Her yellow shoes had seen better days and she was in desperate need of replacing them, but she figured she'd worry about that later. She'd sent a text to Clint a few days ago, letting him know that she'd be flying in on Saturday, early as fuck, and he'd replied with a simple affirmative. It was the little things, she supposed.
Darcy stuffed her backpack full of her clothes and left over food, shoving her laptop in her messenger bag. The keys to the rental were left outside in a lockbox and she had called a cab to deliver her to the nearest airport.
She got the feeling that this wasn't the first time she'd started fresh somewhere new, but she couldn't place it. The longer she tried to focus on a memory, the more elusive it became.
"See ya around, New Mexico," she whispered to herself as she got into the back of the yellow car.
October 8, 2011 – New York City, New York – JFK Airport
Clint fidgeted. And he did not fidget.
The text from Darcy had been a little out of the blue. When he'd first sent her the picture, he'd expected that she'd be on a plane within a week, not months. He'd been so wrapped up in Tony Stark being an asshole, the Valkyrie being uncovered, problems of green proportions. It was strenuous without adding her to the mix, especially since she had no idea who she really was.
Natasha was curious as to who he was picking up, but he'd kept it as quiet as possible. Fury didn't even know who was coming. Clint had secured a little apartment in Brooklyn – in the same neighborhood she had been raised in when he'd dug into old records and files – and a stipend that wouldn't run out no matter what she needed. She'd be safe.
It was odd that he was the one to take care of her this time around. She'd taken him in when he had nowhere else to go and now he was returning the favor.
His green eyes scanned the baggage claim, seeing that her bags should be arriving any minute.
"Miss me?"
He jumped about a mile as he whirled around. "Jesus, kid. You can't just sneak up on people."
Darcy gave him a one-shouldered shrug and a lopsided smile. She tightened the straps of her backpack and hiked the strap of her messenger bag up. "You ready? Or are we waiting for someone to pick us up?"
"Your bags – "
"This is all I've got," she said, her body language contradicting the ease in her voice. "Pack light, you know?"
Clint knew she'd never been one for having a lot of things. Her trailer at the carnival had mostly held his stuff and she had a bag packed under the couch that he figured was a bug out bag.
"Yeah," he answered, swinging his arm around her shoulder and pulling her towards the exit. "Let's get outta here."
The ride had been quiet. Darcy had peered out the window with interest, every now and then a puzzled look would cross her face, but she'd shake it away before he could call her on it. He'd rented a black SUV and made sure that it had the darkest tint on the windows as possible.
The apartment was simple and he'd furnished it with the normal things, couch, coffee table, bed, television. There was no way for him to make her feel like she was at home, but he'd tried. He'd left her journal there, too, hoping that she might want to read it at some point.
"I'm not a charity case, y'know," she said softly as she set her backpack down on the granite countertop in the kitchen. She looked uncomfortable. "I could've stayed at a hotel – "
"You took care of me once. It's only fair that I return the favor – "
"Don't – don't feel indebted to me, Clint." Her fingers pulled against her sweater as a headache began forming behind her eyes. She slipped off her shoes and padded into the living room, feeling the fluffy carpet through her worn socks. She could even see the glossy black of her toenail through the hole. "Whatever happened…before. I can't remember. Clean slate."
Clint shuffled in behind her, taking a seat on the coffee table when she collapsed onto the couch. She kicked her feet up onto the table next to him and he smiled sadly down at her. "Is remembering something you want?"
"What do you mean?"
He sighed. "Do you want to remember your life? Before."
It was an enticing thought. She wanted to know about her life before her accident, before with Clint. Even if it didn't make any sense.
"Maybe we should start with the small things," he suggested, noticing her struggle. "Do you have an questions? Something I could help with?"
"That picture," she started, her brows creased. "When was it taken?"
"Summer, '89. We were traveling with a carnival – that's how we met." He paused, rubbing his jaw thoughtfully. "I was a little runt of a kid that ran away from home and you found me…took care of me. That was in '81. You disappeared in '90, I couldn't find you and I damn near tried everything. I joined the army sometime after that and got picked up by SHIELD before you popped up again. You kept a journal about what you remembered."
"A journal?" She didn't seem like the writing type.
He nodded. "I held onto it, didn't know if I'd come across you again, but I hoped so." He gave her a smile. "You just haven't aged. I knew…I knew that you wouldn't, but it's weird seeing it firsthand years later. You stayed the same when I grew up and now you're practically a teenager sitting in front of me and I'm an old man."
"You're not old," Darcy scoffed, trying to diffuse the tension. "You're only – "
"Forty. And you don't look a day over eighteen."
"Do you…do you still have the journal?"
Clint nodded. "It's in the bedside table in the bedroom. I want you to lay low for a little while. I've got the apartment pretty stocked and there's some cash and a card in a drawer in the kitchen. There's even a set of keys hanging up if you get stir crazy – "
"Why are you being so nice to me?"
"Because you mean more to me than I think you'll ever understand. Now, get some sleep. I'll swing by in a couple days; call if you need anything."
She knew she should be sleeping, but the thought of potentially recovering her memories outweighed sleeping. The journal wasn't that big, but all the pages were filled. It looked like it had been read quite a few times, too. It was definitely her writing covering the page and some of the thoughts were as fragmented as she felt.
Dark hair, blue eyes. He stopped me from being hit by a car. He was born in Brooklyn. Dark hair, blue eyes, worked at the steel factory and the docks. His family owned a market.
Darcy huffed, flipping the pages and getting frustrated that there wasn't names. There wasn't a lot to go off of. No pictures, just a few notes about a will. About things being left to her.
Blond hair, blue eyes. Small, asthmatic. Met him at…the market? His mother was nice. I bought lilies for her funeral. She was Catholic. We all went to church every Sunday.
The pages were covered with memories of the two men. Filled with love and thoughts and feelings that made her chest hurt. Her fingers fiddled with one of the metal bands around her wrists, her eyebrows creasing as she tried once more to pull it off. Jane had offered to cut them off, but Darcy felt like they were important. Like she shouldn't get rid of it.
Sighing, she flipped through the journal once more, reading about her time in Russia. It was going to be a long night.
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~Grace
